


How to Play the Game

by The_Plot_Bunny_Whisperer



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gamer World, Gen, Kawahira thinks he's clever, NPC!Tsuna, everyone's a gamer but Tsuna, tsuna is not amused
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 19:24:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6390049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plot_Bunny_Whisperer/pseuds/The_Plot_Bunny_Whisperer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble series based off of <a href="https://plunniewhisperer.tumblr.com/post/141753110218/khr-gamer-au">this</a> Gamer!Au blurb I posted on tumblr.</p><p>Gamer!AU wherein everyone is a gamer but Tsuna. (Thanks, Nono.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Play the Game

**Author's Note:**

  * For [i-w-p-chan](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=i-w-p-chan), [Sakhyu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sakhyu/gifts).



> This is alllll i-w-p-chan's and sakhyu's fault. All of it. It was just this little idea that popped into my head after reading yet another gamer fic and they turned it into a monster. *shakes fist*
> 
> Drabbles will be posted as they're written, so don't expect fast updates. (This may or may not become an actual fic, but I want to finish Colorire first.)

There was a time when everything made sense. When he loved his life with his mother, he loved his little town of Namimori, he even loved going to school and learning about things called ‘upgrades’ and ‘statistics’ and ‘hammer-space storage’. Mama always told him to pay extra special attention in Gamer Class, because one day he would be seven and his Game would start. He didn’t know what that was, really, but it made Mama excited so he was too.

Then one day Papa came home, bringing his boss along from the far off place where he worked.

The visit was short but it was fun. Papa took him to amusement parks and the zoo, and the old man who told him to call him Nonno told funny stories and colored with him at the kitchen table. The last few days of their visit was a bit of a blur; all he remembered was Nonno poking him in the forehead and that he was really tired after that for some reason. He missed when they left because of it, and was sad to hear they were gone.

Mama was sad too, but she seemed sad for a different reason. She stopped talking about the Game and at school, the teachers looked at him strange and all the friends he used to have in Gamer Class no longer wanted to play with him. They whispered behind their hands and laughed at him, pointing fingers at the empty air around him. He didn’t understand why things were suddenly different, but they were.

On his seventh birthday, Mama watched him all day, staring the air above his head with hope in her eyes. By the time he went to bed that night, the hope had been replaced with despair and a suppressed sort of fury that lit her eyes and pinched her cheeks. Even though she said it wasn’t his fault, that maybe he was a late bloomer, he can’t help but hear the lie in her words and see the anger in her eyes and feel that he let her down somehow.

School became unbearable. The other kids in his class had started forming groups they called ‘parties’ and seemed to be off in their own little worlds. After the third time being told “Why would we want you in our party? You don’t even have a System. You’re probably so dame the Game doesn’t register you exist!” “Yeah, go away dame-Tsuna!” – well, after that he stopped trying to make friends with his peers and kept to himself.

Whatever had changed him had changed Mama too, but in a different way. When not at home or at school, she kept him within her sights at all times. She had always been a bit flighty and constantly cheerful, but there was a new firmness to the set of her shoulders and a fierce protectiveness in her eyes. When the other women on the street began to talk about ‘that poor useless Sawada boy’ in tones full of mocking concern when they thought he couldn’t hear them (and sometimes even when they knew he could), she would stare them down with pursed lips and a challenging glare.

(After the first time the large cast iron wok appeared from nowhere and ‘accidentally’ smashed the wall next to Mrs. Morimoto’s head followed by, “Oops! Clumsy me,” and a serial killer smile, he wasn’t the only one to gain a new level of respect for his mother. Mama was the best, but he’d always known that. No one was surprised when Mrs. Morimoto moved away.)

As the years passed, the Game he’d always heard talked about became nothing but a forgotten memory. He had other concerns, really, like the boys who liked to target him as easy prey and his failing grades in just about everything. The strange music that played from no discernible source was also a concern, as well as the way everyone around him seemed to be able to pull things out of thin air.

It seemed as though the world was one big secret and he was the only one who didn’t know it.


End file.
